


This I Promise You

by TeyrianTimelord



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Detective Steve, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mafia AU, Mob Boss Natasha, Nightmares, On the Run, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), imagined death, nat is a bad guy in chapter 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-07 04:12:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17953376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeyrianTimelord/pseuds/TeyrianTimelord
Summary: It's Romanogers Week 2019!1. "Beaches and Sunsets" (Steve and Natasha meet on a beach while they're both on the run after Civil War. It's not the sunny, relaxing reunion they would have hoped for.)2. "This I Promise You" (Natasha's nightmares are getting out of control.)3. "Incomplete" (Natasha finds Steve in his old apartment after the events of the snap.)4. "Hello, My Love" (1930's Crime!AU in which Detective Rogers and Donna Romanova have a complicated relationship.)5. BONUS PROMPT "(noble)knight Steve x barbarianwarrior(princess) Nat -historical romance au"





	1. Beaches and Sunsets

Natasha stood on the very edge of the cliff so that her toes were peeking over the edge. A few pebbles slid out from under her feet and toppled down into the crushing darkness roiling below. The cresting waves that violently crashed on the rockface below looked black in the dimming light, if what they had right now could be called light. She thought it was near sunset, but the storm clouds were so heavy it was impossible to tell. Despite the braid she plaited her hair into, the wind blew nearly all of it free and whipped it around her face. A deep rumble of thunder above her head promised the rain would be coming soon… not that it would bother her. She didn’t run to Washington for sunshine. Nat pulled her scarf further up around her neck and began her climb down to the beach.

 

Sure enough, half way into her trek through the downward cattracks a soft drizzle began to dampen her wool coat, and by the time she reached the bottom it had escalated into a downpour. The rain was so thick and so heavy that she could barely see 50 yards ahead of her nose. It was perfect. The cover would help. Her boots soon touched the thin strip of sand low tide allowed, but would disappear in less than an hour. By the time night engulfed the coast, the water would be up to her waist if she chose to stay. Still, she waited. She still had a few minutes before the exact time they had agreed on. 

 

“Natasha…”

 

She recognized his voice instantly, and spun around to find an equally soaked Steven Rogers standing a few feet behind her, the howling wind and roarding sea cloaking the sound of his arrival just as they had planned. Even through the bone-chilling rain that seemed to seep into her very skin, his warm smile permeated even deeper into her heart and she couldn’t help but grin when he swept her up into an embrace. 

 

“It’s so good to see you,” she said against his neck, not wanting to pull away even for a moment.

 

They didn’t have time to waste. 

 

For the past 16 months, this was their only option. After he rescued the rest of the team from the Raft, it was too risky for all of them to stay together, or even in one place for two long. While Scott and Clint took plea deals, the rest of them had no choice but to go to ground. They had settled Wanda into a small apartment in Odesa where she had an advantage blending in, and worked out a cover for Sam working with a construction company in Montego Bay. She chose to stay on the northernmost coast of Washington so she could hop back and forth from the States to Canada if the need arose, as most of her covers back in Russia were blown and there hadn’t been enough time for her new ones to solidify. But Steve was the biggest challenge. All around the world, people knew the face of Captain America, which made him a hard man to hide. Unlike the rest of them, he always had to keep moving. He’d spent some time on the road in North America, some in France, Ireland, and Wakanda, but for the most part, Natasha never knew where he was. She didn’t ask, and she told him not to say. Compartmentalization was key. If one of them was caught, they couldn’t risk revealing where he was. Though Cap was definitely leading their ragtag team, as the expert on staying out of sight, this was her time to call the shots. They would all reunite, she promised them, but it would be a patience game, and for now brief meetings were all they had. 

 

In this case, 8 minutes to be exact. 

 

“Are you safe?” Steve asked, still holding her in his arms.

 

She smirked.

 

“You don’t have to worry about me, Rogers. I know what I’m doing.” 

 

He squeezed her a little tighter, and she felt his face settle against her wet hair and she sighed. Even being battered by the storm, this was the best she had felt in weeks. She missed the team. She missed their old life. She missed training in the Avengers compound and sharing meals and relaxing together after a long day. She missed early late morning walks in New York. She missed going on missions with Steve and Clint and feeling like she didn’t have to always watch her back because there was always someone she trusted watching it for her. This life was one she had known for a long time, but before becoming an Avenger, it hadn’t seemed as lonely. Now there was something to lose. 

 

Natasha suddenly felt a shift in Steve’s body. He was tense, tenser than usual. 

 

“What’s wrong?” she inquired quickly, swiftly looking around. “Were you followed?”

 

“No, it’s nothing like that,” he replied with no small amount of frustration in his voice. “I’m sick of this, Nat. We’re supposed to be out there doing good, together, but all we’ve done is run or hide. I’m still an Avenger, and so are you. So are Sam and Wanda.”

 

“I know, Steve, and I know how much that means to you,” she reassured softly, placing a freezing hand on his surprisingly hot cheek. “But we have to be patient.” 

 

He tightly took hold of both of her shoulders with an aggression she hadn’t seen from him since the hospital after she retrieved the thumbdrive he not-so-cleverly hid in a vending machine. His mouth opened like he was going to say something, yell at her that he was done with being patient and would do whatever it took to get back to some resemblance of normalcy. But he didn’t. Instead he leaned down and planted a hard on her mouth. She was taken aback by the stark difference from the soft hesitancy in Washington D.C. while they fled Hydra. This was a man who was sure of what he wanted and was ready to snap if he didn’t get it. The wind and rain swirled around them in a torrent that matched him completely, and she felt the impending rise in the tide lick at her boots and her resolve beginning to melt away. Night was falling around them along with any desire she had to keep him away, even for his own safety. He was her friend, and… now something more. She didn’t know if she’d ever find the right word. 

“Soon,” was all she said when she finally found the will to pull away and rest her forehead on his. 

 

“Soon,” he repeated back. 

 

Natasha closed her eyes and began to count aloud, “ten… nine… eight…” just like they had done before. And sure enough, when she reached “one” and opened her eyes again, he was gone and she was alone again. Alone with the rain and the sea and the deep, deep cold. She sighed and began her walk back up the cliffside, shivering as she went. 


	2. I Promise

_ “I have no place in the world.” _

 

_ She breathes. She breathes heavily and deeply and the sound of it is all she can hear. The rest of the world is silent around her. She knows the people running here and there are screaming, can see it in their gaping mouths and contorted faces, but the noise never reaches her. Neither does the heat of the flames, though they practically lick at her skin. She can’t feel the pain of it on her flesh even as her skin begins to blister. She does feel the sparks and cinders, though, and the kiss of ash on her hair. They hit her in waves as the beams and panels come crumbling down in their hellish inferno. It doesn’t hurt. She did this. Nothing she does hurts.  _

 

_ The massive metal A that used to illuminate the skyline and serve as a reminder to New York that even if humanity couldn’t be saved, it would be avenged, finally loses its support to the fire and comes falling down. Falling. Falling. Falling for hours until it crashes at her feet and explodes into a thousand glass pieces. The glistening shards float around her and she can see her reflecting in them. Her eyes are gone. Her nose is gone. Her mouth is gone. Her face is nothing but a smooth, blank slate. And then the pieces explode again, but this time into snow. The blinding whiteness of it lightly flutters down over the charred remains of Stark Tower… what she told herself was her place in the world. She walks through the ruins, with the ash and snow sticking to her feet, and picks her way through the rubble. _

 

_ She finds Tony first. The helmet of his suit is cracked in half, and through it she can see the smoldering remains of his charred face, broiled alive inside the suit. She keeps going. Clint’s death was swift. She approaches his corpse to see it impaled on one of the steel beams that once held their home upright. His eyes are closed. She keeps going. Banner’s legs are all she can see, the rest of him buried under half a metric ton of concrete. One of his shoes is missing. She keeps going. Thor is still alive somewhere, at least for a few brief moments. She hears his screams for help, but with every step she takes they get fainter and fainter until finally falling away into a whisper of wind. She keeps going. Steve’s body is pristine. He’s not wearing his tactical suit or any battle gear like the rest of them, just his favorite pair of jeans and what she knows is the most comfortable t-shirt that he owns. Owned. Not a single hair on his head is out of place, nor a single stain touched on his skin. If he wasn’t so still, she’d think he was sleeping. She looks down and his shield is in her hands.  _

 

_ “You have no place in the world,” she hears his voice say, though his lips do not move and his eyes do not open.  _

 

_ She leans down to touch him, but when she does, the whole world gives way from under her feet.  _

 

“Nat, it’s okay. I’ve got you, it’s okay.” 

 

Natasha startled awake to find herself panting heavily against Steve’s chest. He was holding her so tightly that she almost couldn’t breathe. Her entire body felt damp with a sticky layer of sweat gone cold. The first thing she did was crane her head so she can see herself in the vanity mirror on the other side of her room. Eyes, nose, and mouth all accounted for. 

 

“I’m fine,” she said hoarsely, her entire mouth feeling dry. “It was just a nightmare.”

 

“I could hear you from next door,” Steve replied with a tone that told her in no uncertain terms he didn’t believe her. 

 

So much for Stark soundproofing the walls.

 

“You worry too much,” she dismissed, and pulled herself out of his embrace so she could stand up.

 

The shorts and tank top she wore as pajamas were soaked in sweat, and she needed to put on something clean. She needed to toss the whole night aside and that would start with her clothes. Natasha made her way over to the closet and watched Steve from the corner of her eye as she undressed. He’d seen every bit of her a few times now, mostly while changing on the go during a mission or from undercover assignments, but he still looked away when she peeled off the wet tank top and threw it aside. She smirked to herself. Always so chivalrous. 

 

“Your nightmares aren’t usually this bad,” he said while his gaze stayed fixed on the window.

 

Natasha scoffed lightly, pretending the image of walking amongst her friends’ mangled bodies wasn’t still fresh in her mind. 

 

“I can handle myself, Rogers,” she reassured. 

 

Once she finished wrapping herself in a fresh bathrobe that still smelled like laundry detergent, Steve rose from his place on her bed and made it to her side in only a few steps. Without her boots to give her extra height, he towered over her by almost a foot. He always took up space in a room, but she sometimes forgot just how much larger than her he really was… and how capable that made him of holding her when the nightmares came. He looked down at her with those blue eyes that made countless women swoon for decades. Natasha could see in them the softness that made him Steve Rogers, not just Captain America. He cared. He cared so much about so many things. She met his gaze directly as one of his hands came to rest on her shoulder. 

 

“I know,” he nearly whispered. “But you don’t have to do it alone. I promise.” 

 

Nat allowed herself a small smile, this time a genuine one.  _ You don’t have to do it alone. I promise,  _ rang in her ears for a few moments more. She’d spent most of her life alone, but with SHIELD and Clint, with the Avengers… with Steve… that internal isolation was melting away bit by bit. And it melted a little more when his other hand cupped the back of her neck while he kissed her cheek. A soothing calm swept over her as she leaned into his touch. Something in the warmth and gentleness of it was cleansing, like a summer rain washing away the soot her fire had left behind. Like all his years of doing good could help ease out the evils she had done. Like...like...like salvation.

 

“Thank you,” she brought herself to murmur.

 

He kissed her again, this time on her forehead.

 

“Go back to bed, Natasha. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”


	3. Incomplete

Natasha picks her way through the darkness with the skill of a woman who is used to such things. She gingerly steps over crushed beer cans and strewn plastic bags, moving as silently as possible along the alleyway. She doesn’t know the old parts of Brooklyn well, but she is intimately so with the man who does. Steve’s grasp on subtlety and awareness dipped when his emotions got the better of him, and there was one emotional trigger capable of breaking him down faster than anything: Bucky. Nowadays all it took was a single reminders… finding an old shirt, seeing a newspaper headline, passing someone on the street with the same hair color… there was no way to keep it contained. Those were bad enough, but early this morning was the worst they’d seen yet. Without Tony around to keep Friday up to date, the technological maintenance responsible for managing the Avengers’ compound were falling behind, including safety measures such as fire hazard awareness. By the time the smoke alarms went off sprinklers were activated, most of the damage had been done to the living quarters. Most of their rooms took serious losses, including Steve’s. Including his bookshelves. Including his photo albums. Including the last original picture he had of him and Bucky together during the war. 

 

As she suspected, once she reaches the end of the block she finds an apartment complex that seems like it could fall apart at the slightest footfall in the wrong place. It has a fence around it with several massive signs that say “CONDEMNED BY MUNICIPAL ORDERS,” and a variety of other warning with promises to prosecute trespassers. However, the deterrents obviously have not done their job, because Natasha instantly spots the faintest hint of movement on the second floor behind a boarded up window with only a few spaces in the wood. A hint is all she needs. She vaults her way over fence with ease and lightly makes her way up the fire escape to the second story of the building as quietly as ever. Once she reaches the unlocked door, though, she pushes it open with just enough force to let it squeak. She doesn’t want to startle him. 

 

Sure enough, as she makes her way through the threshold she finds Steve standing in the middle of what must once have been the living room. Every trace that might suggest the space was lived in was completely gone. The fireplace had caved in, the walls had more holes than wood, and a few gaping chasms has formed between the floorboards. Even with the sound, he does not turn to face her, but instead continues to stare at the ceiling. As if trying to divine answers from the cracks running above his head. 

 

“I lived here for 22 years,” he states in monotone without shifting his gaze at all. “Bucky moved in the year after Ma died to help pay the rent.” 

 

“He really cared about you,” she answers, choosing her words carefully. 

 

“Yeah.. yeah he did.” 

 

Nat makes her way to Steve’s side and places a hand on his shoulder, without saying another sound. She knows he doesn’t need more things to rattle around in his brain. They stay there in the dim and the quiet for what ends up being an hour when she checks her watch. It’s okay.  _ Staying together is more important than how we stay together… I didn’t want you to be alone.  _ The days she said those words to him feel like a lifetime ago, but that does not make them any less true. She’ll stay by his side for as long as he needs. 

 

“I’m incomplete without him, Nat,” he finally says. “It’s even worse than the first time I lost him. I… I don’t know what to do.” 

 

“None of us do,” she whispers back. 

It’s the god’s honest truth. She sure as hell can’t find a direction to go or a method to cope. After Thanos left Earth, she took the Quinjet to Clint’s farm as fast as she could only to be met with ash. It was impossible to tell if any of them had escaped. Wind from open windows had strewn the remains around the living room into a coating of dust across the floor. Nothing else from the house was out of place, so she could only assume they were all gone. Laura, the kids, Clint. Her oldest friend. Her best friend. The man to whom she owed her life. The person she trusted most in the world. The only thing she could think to do was sweep it all up. Nat took what was left and put them in the jewelry box she had bought for Laura as a birthday gift five years earlier and buried it in a shallow hole next to the barn, leaving only one of Clint’s arrows stuck into the dirt above as a poor substitute for a headstone. It felt wrong. It felt inadequate. It felt… incomplete. 

 

“You once told me, ‘we have what we have when we have it,’” he continues. “But I want what we had back. I want it so damn much.” 

 

“Me too.” 

 

He still does not turn to look at her. She wishes she had a way to comfort him, to help them both find meaning in all this pain, but like all the days since their world came crumbling down around them, she comes up short. Unlike the day of Peggy’s funeral, this time she doesn’t have any words of wisdom. There was facing the inevitability of death, and then there was this. A waking nightmare. Hell on Earth. The manifestation of worst fears. The meaning of life stripped away with nothing left to fill the void. Nothing. She had nothing to give, because there was nothing at all. All she can do is move her hand down his arm and entwine her fingers with his. 

 

They stay that way until the faint rays of dawn slowly send soft shafts of light through the gaps in the boards on the window. The air is still chilled, the sun is still dim, but nonetheless, it is a new day. 

 

“Hey Nat,” Steve murmurs. 

 

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here.” 


	4. Hello, My Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the highlight of my Romanogers Week prompts and I will definitely be revisiting it later!

**_Brooklyn, 1933_ **

 

“Hello, my love. Are you coming to see me tonight?” 

 

All it took was the sound of her voice to send a splitting headache right through his skull. The nerve of this woman was incalculable. 

 

“Romanoff, I’ve told you-” he growled into the telephone. 

 

“That’s ‘Donna Romanova’ to you, detective,” she interrupted. “It will take a lot more than a one night stand for you to earn that. Unless, of course, you’re interested in learning Russian and would like to call me Krestnaya instead.” 

 

“What if I call you ‘under arrest?’” he countered, to which he was only met with a melodious laugh. 

 

“You and I both know you don’t have the evidence for that. But that’s not why I called,” she continued nonchalantly. “We need to discuss business. The Scarlet Lounge, tonight, 7PM. Come alone and don’t be late.” 

 

The line clicked and then went dead, leaving Detective Rogers with nothing but the sound of the bullpen clatter outside his office to seep through the door and fill the silence. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples vigorously and swearing under his breath. He’d met a lot of people who caused him a lot of problems throughout his tenure as head detective, but Romanoff was shaping up to be the biggest pain in his ass yet. Was she the worst criminal he’d ever chased? No, not by a long shot. But the most annoying? Without a doubt. 

 

Not even a minute later, Tony opened the door without asking. 

 

“Was that her?” he asked excitedly. 

 

“Yes,” Steve responded tersely. “And you weren’t invited.”

 

His partner put on a melodramatic pout, but Steve could see through the theatrical facade. The man was chomping at the bit to get brought in on the case so his name could be on the paperwork when they brought Romanoff down. His late father, Howard Stark, had spent his entire career bringing down as many crime families as the New York Police Department’s resources allowed, and Steve knew he would do anything to live up to that legacy. The man had passion and brains, however, he also a conflict of interest they couldn’t risk taking into such a delicate situation. Since the department first learned that the daughter of Russian immigrants had somehow risen to the inner circles of organized crime in Brooklyn, years had been spent meticulously gathering every shred of evidence that could be used against her. She was both a public enemy and an enigmatic phenomena in her own right. Everyone knew she was a once in a lifetime collar that would require an extreme amount of delicacy.

 

The irony was not lost on him. 

 

“You’re in charge tonight while I’m gone. If Commissioner Fury calls, make up a good excuse,” Steve ordered as he grabbed his coat and hat. 

 

Tony flashed him a sarcastic smile. 

 

“I’ll just tell him you’re on a date.”

 

*** 

The Scarlet Lounge was meant to be the kind of place that no one could find without already knowing where it was. Patrons were forced to make their way to the back of what had to be one of the dingiest alleys in the city to climb down a flight of stairs marked only by a dulled and fraying red ribbon tied around the handrail. However, like most underground gin joints, the interior couldn’t be a starker contrast. Despite his best efforts not to be impressed, Steve was awestruck from the moment the doorman let him through. The front room was small, but every inch oozed glamour and class capable of rivaling the best hotels and clubs on the upside of town. To the left, an intimate stage with a five piece jazz band playing softly and sweetly. To the right, a bar with bottles of foreign liquor cases stacked higher than the bartender’s head. The air was thick but sweet with the heavy smoke of crystal hookah pipes. Two dozen men and women mingled with hushed voices that made up a single white noise and a sea of silk, and in the middle of it all was Romanoff herself. She was clad from head to toe in black satin save for the white fur wrapped around her shoulder and a collar of rubies that matched the red of her hair. 

 

“Seven o’clock on the dot. How very punctual of you, detective,” she said seductively as she glided to his side and took his arm. “Right this way.” 

 

He didn’t answer, but she pulled him along anyway through the red curtain that served as a backdrop for the stage. Unlike the opulence of the main floor, this was subtler and more simplistic; a simple study with a bookcase, desk, and two lounge chairs next to a coffee table. On the table was one unmarked bottle of what he assumed was whiskey and two unadorned drams. Romanoff gently eased him into one of the chairs and took her place in the other. 

 

“Care for a drink?” she asked, uncorking the bottle and filling one of the glasses for herself. 

 

“I don’t drink,” he muttered. “And I could arrest you right now for that if I wanted to.” 

 

She cocked one eyebrow playfully and took a small sip. 

 

“My dear detective, are you implying that you this is alcohol? I don’t serve anything in my establishment but flat cola. For medicinal purposes, of course.” 

 

Steve rolled his eyes. 

 

“What do you want from me?” he demanded. 

 

Romanoff took another sip, this time deep and long, taking her time as she leaned back a little further in her chair. Making him wait. 

 

“To help me to help you,” she finally responded. “My friends on Capitol Hill have assured me that Congress and Roosevelt are only a few days away from pushing a resolution to repeal the 18th Amendment. As I’m sure you know, that will dramatically change the families’ source of income.” 

 

“You mean the mafia won’t be able to make their money selling moonshine and bathtub gin anymore,” he interrupted.

 

Her eyes narrowed from their irreverent softness to a harsh glare. 

 

“Don’t be insolent, detective. We’re not amateurs,” she snapped. “Regardless, the days of this industry are numbered and I’ve been tasked with seeking out new business ventures.” 

 

“And what does that have to do with me?” 

 

She leaned forward and reached across the table to put a hand on his knee, snaking it up his thigh. Just as he thought he knew what she was doing and moved to pull away, she veered right and rested the tips of her fingers on the grip of his pistol. She looked deep into his eyes and he did his best not to be distracted. It was impossible not to admit the sparkle nestled in their light green was beautiful. She was beautiful. And dangerous. 

 

“I want to propose a deal,” she continued. “The pull I have with the other families is substantial. At my word, they could easily become invested in business that would create quite the headache for both the people of the five boroughs and the New York Police Department… or I could recommend some less destructive alternatives. In exchange, all I need from you is the willingness to turn your head every once in a while when victimless circumstances arise.” 

 

“You can’t be serious,” Steve challenged, but was only met with the coy grin returning to Romanoff’s lips. 

 

“I’ve never been so serious in my life. I want to make sure that my compatriots keep their money and the people of this city stay as safe as possible at the same time, but I can’t make that happen unless I can guarantee the Dons a smooth transition.” 

 

This caught Steve by surprise. In all his time on the force he’d never heard of a mobster willing to let compassion get in the way of money and power. This had to be a trick. She had to be playing him. There’s no way she was serious… right? 

 

“Get your jaw off the floor, detective,” she continued, and pulled a cigarette and match seemingly out of thin air. “I might be a monster, but I’m not a completely heartless one.” 

 

Steve fumbled for words for a few moments before he finally answered waveringly, “That’s not the word I was going to use.” 

 

Her smile grew wider and she let out a chuckle, obviously enjoying his discomfort (which of course made him even more uncomfortable. It was that damned smile that got to his nerves, not because it frightened or annoyed him, but because it  _ reminded _ him. Reminded him of how vulnerable he was, how naive and gullible he had been, how much his heart still bled for every lost soul asking for his help; all things that had almost ended his career, and sometimes nearly his life, right when they had been beginning. That smile was a symbol of the precariously slippery slope down to the destruction of everything he was working to achieve. 

 

“I like you, Rogers,” Romanoff said with the cigarette still between her teeth. “Why don’t you stay and relax a while, for old times’ sake?” 

 

He knew if he didn’t leave now, he was going to do something he’d regret tomorrow. Kiss her, kill her, Steve really couldn’t say which one. So he quickly buttoned his coat and rose from the chair. 

 

“I’ll consider your offer, but you’re not tricking me again,” was all he stated coldly before standing up and stiffly striding back out the curtain and to the door.

 

It took all his strength, but he didn’t look back.

 

***

**_Manhattan, 1928_ **

 

_ “It’s alright, ma’am. You’re safe now,” Steve whispered to the young woman as he draped the blanket over her shoulders.  _

 

_ She was shaking like a leaf in an autumn storm, blood spatter still staining her pale face and clumping her red hair. He saw her knees buckle and barely caught her in his arms before she hit the floor. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her shoulders began to shake with soft sobs.  _

 

_ “I know you’re still upset, ma’am, but can you tell us who these men are?” Tony asked with an uncharacteristic gentleness in his voice.  _

 

_ “That’s… that’s my brother…” she choked, and pointed to the body with a single bullet hole in his left temple, then to the four corpses on the other side of the hotel room. “And… and those are Don D’Aquila’s sons. They brought us here to kill us for… for not paying protection… and… and I… I had to...”  _

 

_ That was all she could get through before breaking down into hysterical cries of sorrow, burying her fact in Steve’s chest. He couldn’t tell if it was the blood or the tears that dampened his shirt. He didn’t care. He would have given anything in the world to have someone hold him when the Colombo family gunned down Bucky in the streets, to have someone there to say that even though his entire world was crashing down around him, he was going to be safe.  _

 

_ “Please don’t take me to jail, please,” she begged. “I just wanted to live, I’m sorry!”  _

 

_ “No one is taking you anywhere you don’t want to go,” Steve reassured her. “You’re not in any trouble. We’re just going to give you a place to stay until we know it’s safe for you to go home.”  _

 

_ Tony took the wheel while Steve carried her to the back seat, leaving the uniformed officers to process the rest of the scene. After a few minutes of driving, she finally calmed down enough to be able to take a few deep breaths, but he didn’t want to push any questions on her. At least until they could get her cleaned up and settled into the safehouse. If she agreed to testify alongside a few other victims from the last few years, this woman could be the final piece they needed to bring D’Aquila down once and for all. He needed to know everything.  _

 

_ “What’s your name?” he finally asked when they reached the old apartment the department owned for just such scenarios. _

 

_ “Natasha Romanoff,” she whispered unsteadily.  _

 

_ “Nice to meet you, Ms. Romanoff,” he returned, letting her lean on him so he could get her through the door without her collapsing. “I’m Detective Steven Rogers. I’m here to help you.”  _

 

_ She only shook her head in acknowledgement. As soon as they made it into the studio, Ms. Romanoff seemed to melt into the bed, not even bothering to take off her high heels or bloodied coat. She grabbed one of the pillows and clutched it to her chest so tightly that Steve was surprised it didn’t burst. The hollowness in her eyes as she stared into nothingness made a piece of his heart break. He knew that look; it stayed within him for days after Bucky’s murder.  _

 

_ “Ms. Romanoff, you need to shower and put on clean clothes,” he said. “I can’t let you fall asleep covered in blood.”  _

 

_ Again, she didn’t give him any words in reply, but slowly released the pillow, shakily pushed herself back to her feet, and made her way into the bathroom. Steve hovered by the door until he heard the water begin to run, then settled into the single armchair in the room to read the day’s paper. And he did. Cover to cover and every puzzle in between, but she still had not returned, and the shower was still running. He knocked on the door softly as to not startle her… still silence.  _

 

_ “Ms. Romanoff, can I come in?” he called. _

 

_ Silence.  _

 

_ He sighed in exasperation and opened the door, looking out of his peripheral vision to preserve her modesty. Thankfully, she wasn’t dead or passed out as he feared, but the poor woman was far from a good condition. She was curled in in a ball on the floor of the tub, water now gone cold still beating down on her. Her discarded clothes were next to her with the rewetted blood staining the porcelain around her head and blending with her loose hair. The dark stains of her makeup streamed down her cheeks like blackened tears, and Steve’s breath caught in his throat. This definitely wasn’t something he trained for.  _

 

_ Steve swallowed his embarrassment and reached into the shower to turn off the water. He then grabbed the nearest towel and draped it over Natasha so he could pick her up and carry her back to the bed. Though she stayed catatonic, he felt one of her hands reach up and find a hold at the nape of his neck. When he went to put her down, she leaned up just enough to brush her lips against his, and he nearly dropped her in surprise. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, this was not happening.  _

 

_ “You’re in shock, Ms. Romanoff. You need to get some sleep,” he tried to say matter-of-factly, but heard his own voice waiver nonetheless.  _

 

_ “Please,” she murmured. “Steve, please.”  _

 

_ His whole head began to spin. All of it was wrong in so many different ways for so many different reasons. This was his first big mob hit investigation since making detective, he couldn’t create a conflict of interest build that might come out in court against him. He couldn’t let this woman make a mistake in the midst of a crisis. He couldn’t violate the ethical code that came with wearing the badge. But he also couldn’t stop himself from suddenly noticing every little detail about her, reclined on the bed in front of him as naked as she’d be in Eden. Her eyes that were still dulled with loss also cried out, pulling at the fractured part of him that still hadn’t healed since he held his best friend’s bleeding corpse in his arms. She was broken like he was, and she needed something, and Jesus Christ he’d never seen a more beautiful woman in all his life.  _

 

_ “Please,” she asked one more time.  _

 

_ Steve kissed her back and prayed to God for forgiveness.  _

 

***

**_Brooklyn, 1929_ **

 

_ “What is that?” Steve asked in horror as his eyes scanned the board Tony had assembled.  _

 

_ Tony sighed and took a long, long drag of his cigarette.  _

 

_ “It’s the latest information from my C.I. is what it is,” he muttered back. “Remember that Natasha Romanoff lady we picked up at the La Cruz for the D’Aquila hit on her brother?”  _

 

_ “Yeah, what about her?”  _

 

_ A thump echoed through the office as Tony dropped a stack of photos on his desk.  _

 

_ “Natasha Romanoff doesn’t exist,” he explained frustratedly. “Her real name is Natalia Romanova, and she manages the bootlegging business for every mafia family from here to the Bronx. She’s got more manpower in the mob than half the Dons, and the man she claimed was her brother was actually Joseph Profaci’s cousin. She set up the whole thing to stir the pot between the Colombos and the Gambinos so they would cut D’Aquila out of the picture. And to make things even worse, there’s a rumor she has blackmail on one of the higher-ups in the NYPD.”  _

 

_ Steve would have felt more comfortable staring down the barrel of a gun than he did now staring at the pictures on his desk. The one right on top was nothing short of gorgeous; a full portrait of the woman he’d spent the night with more than a year ago now. But this was no tired, grief-stricken woman with tears in her eyes and mascara running down her face. Surely not the tender, gentle lover who was sweeter than midsummer honey. No, this was a lady of power, armored in a velvet dress that hugged every curve in just the right way to show the world her weapon of choice. As lovely as she was, all bedecked in jewelry worth more than his house and face painted to perfection, looking at her hurt. He knew from the moment he kissed her that there would be hell to pay… but he never thought this would be his punishment.  _

 

***

**_Brooklyn, 1933_ **

 

“Detective, what a surprise,” Romanoff crooned casually as he stormed through the front door, barely looking up from the ledgers she was perusing. “How can I help you on this lovely morning?”

 

The lightness in her tone made his skin crawl. He looked around the lounge to make sure they were completely alone before he grabbed her arm and forcefully pulled her off the barstool she was perched on. She let out a quick gasp, but he knew it was for show. Nothing surprised her. She did, however, drop the feigned look of shock from her face when he threw her against the nearest wall. The smirk that came instead was exponentially worse. The only thing keeping him from punching it off was the fact that even if she pulled a gun on him now, he still couldn’t bring himself to strike a woman… though it seemed he might need to get over that in the  _ very _ near future. 

 

“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” she asked calmly. 

 

“I’m going to tell everyone about us,” he snarled. “The Commissioner, the press, all of New York if I have to. I don’t care if it’s end of my career; you won’t be able to hold it over my head anymore.”

 

Despite his best attempt to be intimidating, to radiate his rage, she just laughed. She. Just. Laughed. 

 

“All this time, you thought I was blackmailing you? You poor, sweet thing.” 

 

She sidestepped and slipped around him, strategically spinning so that this time he was trapped. Before he even knew what was happening, her legs were hiked up on his waist and her lips were barely an inch from his ear. His heart stopped beating for a moment as he felt her breath against his skin. 

 

“That was just for fun, my love,” she murmured. “You’ll catch up.” 

  
He felt both her hands settle in his hair as she crashed into him with a kiss that burned hotter than the flames of hell he was  _ definitely _ going to burn in for this.

 


	5. As the World Falls Down

_ “Once upon a time-” _

 

_ “No. You are not allowed to start this story with ‘once upon a time.’”  _

 

_ “Fine. Many years before you were born, your mother and I met in a very… untraditional way.” _

 

***

Steve tapped his foot anxiously and tuned in on the sound of leather against stone as it rang through the hall. It gave him something to focus on, no matter how small. Sam was doing the same, tapping his fingers against the hilt of his sword and whistling just softly enough that it didn’t cause an echo. Bucky, however, was stiller than a statue, arms crossed and head bowed. He could enter a meditative state at the drop of a hat, whether it was in the calm of a garden or the cold night before battle. 

 

“He’s late,” Sam said, interrupting the silence. 

 

“We’re lucky he called us at all,” Steve scolded. “Don’t ruin it.”

 

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes, but kept his mouth shut. He was right, though. They had been standing in this corridor for nearly an hour now, but still the king had not received them. It was strange and nerve racking, especially since it took 4 days of hard riding to answer the summons. All King Anthony’s herald had said in the missive was that they were “needed immediately to carry out a mission of paramount urgency for the safety of the realm.” Apparently his definition of  _ urgency  _ was fluid. Though Steve had to admit that he shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew Tony from many years before the crown ever touched his head, and the man was very rarely on time. 

 

Finally, the massive oak doors behind them opened with the loud groan of steel hinges being put to work. Standing in the archway to greet them was Lady Potts, the king’s closests and most trusted advisor. A butterfly did not flap its wings in the kingdom without her knowledge or permission. 

 

“His majesty will see you now,” she instructed formally, but not without a smile. 

 

The smile that could, and had, deceived empires into lethally underestimating her intelligence. 

 

She led the three of them through the threshold and into the splendor that was the royal throne room. The nearly 50 yard long marble floor was illuminated with vibrant splashes of color from the stained glass windows that made up almost the entire wall. Two rows of statues carved in the visages of past kings served as guards down the path to the centerpiece of all the magnificence: His Royal Majesty King Anthony Stark II. The man that Steve could never quite unsee as just Prince Tony sat atop his intricately carved oak throne bedecked all in velvet and silk, sitting a bit lopsided but still with dignity. 

 

“It’s good to see you, Captain,” Tony called, rising from his seat to meet them as they approached. “Thank you for coming.”

 

“Thank you for inviting us,” Steve answered cordially as they all took to one knee. 

 

The king waved his hand dismissively.

 

“Stop, stop, enough of that. We’ve got more important things to do then bowing.” 

 

They all returned to standing and followed Tony when he beckoned them to come with him to the left of the throne and into the antechamber that served as a meeting room. Already splayed out on the great table that took up most of the room was a massive map of the kingdom, stretching from the southernmost summer ports to the desolate wilds of the north. Chess pieces were scattered across it, with small white marble sculptures arranged toward the capitol and black onyx carvings in the more isolated corners. The set itself must have cost enough to feed a peasant family for a year.

 

“You three are my bravest knights and best hunters,” Tony started, beginning to pace around the table. “Lately we’ve been having problems with the barbarians to the north. They’re coming down from the mountains to terrorize military outposts. Survivors from the raids have reported that their new chieftain, ‘The Widow,’ is responsible for the surge in activity. I want you to ride north, find her, and bring her south for justice by any means necessary. And you’ll be paid your weight in gold, of course.”

 

Steve could see the grins flashing over Bucky and Sam’s faces without turning around to look. They were good men, with hearts full of nobility and honor befitting their stations, but that didn’t mean they were above the motivation of riches, especially from Tony’s coffers. The kingdom was prospering under his rule and he was happy to share what he could… and what he could was certainly plentiful. 

 

“We’ll leave at once,” Steve answered with a curt bow. 

 

Tony clapped a friendly hand on his friend’s shoulder, but the light grin faded into a stone-like gaze.

 

“I’m trusting you, Steve,” he said sternly. “This woman is a threat to the whole kingdom.”

 

“We won’t fail. I promise.”

 

***

Dawn was only just beginning to bring life to the sun again, but the chill in the air showed no sign of budging. Steve had endured cold before, but even he was miserable in the damp fog and crisp frost. The mountain range was either so densely forested that they could barely see more than a few yards ahead of themselves, or scarred with sharp and jagged cliffs even goats would struggle to climb.  _ Inhospitable,  _ if he had to put a single word to use. 

 

“No wonder they’re moving south,” he muttered to himself as he rubbed his hands together and breathed heavily against them for some sliver of warmth.

 

After nearly a week of no luck tracing even a sign of the tribesmen, he, Bucky, and Sam decided to split up to cover more ground, and rendezvous in three days time. They promised to only observe and report, not engage until they could muster strength in numbers. His promise to Tony meant nothing if they couldn’t even find the damn woman they were suppose to capture. Fate seemed to be fighting them every step of the way. The mountains, forests, lakes, cliffs, every inch of the landscape were silent save for the sound of crying hawks and howling wolves.

 

...And suddenly, the sound of a bowstring being pulled taught.

 

“A knight alone in the north,” a soft voice said behind him. “This must be my lucky day.” 

 

Steve quickly turned to draw his sword, but before his hand even touched the pommel, an arrow pierced the lower sleeve of his mail, pinning his wrist to the tree at his side. In the time it took to even look behind him, another one embedded itself in the hood of his cloak barely an inch from his ear. The archer emerged from the shadow of a scrub bush and stepped into a faint vein of sunlight that had finally peaked over the mountain tops. Though clothed head to toe in thick furs and heavy wool, face half concealed with charcoal and woad, his attacker was definitely a woman. She slowly approached while staying just out of reach from his free arm, eyeing his entire body critically. 

 

“Let me see… dented but well cared for armor, crest of the star and the arc, woven cotton tabard… The Oppressor in the south sent you here to arrest The Widow, didn’t he?” she mused.

 

Her hands darted forward and swiftly unbuckled belt, taking his sword and dagger with it. His swipe at her came too late, and she only let out a quiet laugh at the futility of his attempt to fight back. 

 

“You’re people have been murdering citizens of the realm,” he growled. “The king would have the woman responsible be held accountable for her actions.” 

 

“My people are resisting a hostile military occupation,” she retorted quickly, and Steve was taken aback by the vocabulary that was far from what he expected out of a ‘barbarian.’

 

“Your kings have treated us as subhumans for centuries,” she continued. “We have our own gods, our own culture, our own trades and lifestyle incompatible with a southern rule, and yet still we are denied our sovereignty by force. Tell me, knight, what lies have you been fed?” 

Steve felt his breath catch in his lungs. He expected war. He expected blood. He expected ambush and violence. Not… not a political monologue. The woman saw the confusion on his face and smirked. Throwing his weapons across the glade, she reached forward and pulled her two arrows out of the tree, freeing him. 

 

“Thank you,” was all he could bring himself to say. 

 

Her smirk grew into a conceded grin. 

 

“You were expecting a mindless heathen?” she asked smugly.

 

“...Yes,” he admitted after a moment’s pause. 

 

He kept an eye on his sword, a mere 15 feet away. If he was quick, he might be able to dive for it before she could knock another arrow, but she followed his line of sight and removed her hand from her quiver.

 

“Pick it up, if you’d like,” she offered. “Fight me, if that’s really what you want. But I’m not going to hurt you unless you attack me first. It has always been our way to attempt diplomacy before violence, but I doubt your king has made that information known.” 

 

Steve stood completely still. Dawn was finally reaching its climax, spreading a warm light through the air around them and subduing the fog, starting to melt the frost on the grass into a shimmering dew. The rays of sunshine illuminated his… his  _ opponent’s _ features more and more. The curves of her cheeks were definitive even under the layers of paint, green eyes illuminating and round lips more apparent. She was slender and nearly a foot shorter than him, and nearly every standard of beauty that would be expected even in the refined courts of the south, though hidden in her own mysterious ways. 

 

If he fought her, she would win. Again.

 

“Can you take me to The Widow?” he asked with some trepidation. “Maybe we can talk and come up with a different solution.”

 

The woman raised one of her eyebrows. 

 

“I  _ am _ The Widow. And so far, I like you. Let’s talk.” 

 

***

_ “What happened next? That can’t be the end!” _

 

_ “No, dear. It was the beginning of many other stories you are too young to hear.”  _

 

_ “But father!” _

 

_ “Don’t argue. Your mother did incredible things for peace between our two people. We would still be at war if she hadn’t convinced me to bring the King to a meeting of treaties. And you would never have been born. Now go to bed. You’ve been up late enough already, and we don’t want to anger The Widow.”  _


End file.
